Domesticity
by karlalujah
Summary: House and Wilson spend a Saturday afternoon together. Surprises await each of them.


**Title:** Domesticity  
**Pairing:** more-than-squintable (and OOC, I think) House/Wilson, Season 8  
**Rating:** PG  
**Notes:** I haven't written any fic aside from House/Cuddy and Hugh/Lisa. This was a challenge for an organization I'm applying for (that was too many fors, wasn't it?) which stipulates: "Write a slash pairing of your choice. Make it cute and not graphic." So, ladies and gentlemen, here it is.

* * *

House and Wilson were watching reruns of General Hospital one lazy Saturday afternoon. They were lucky that House didn't have a case and that he decided to spend the afternoon in Wilson's apartment.

"Hey! Don't touch my chips!" Wilson slapped House's hand mid-potato chip. The chip fell limply on the living room floor. Wilson sighed. One chip wasted. "How many times do I have to tell you that you can get your own from the cupboard? I just bought groceries last week." There was a tinge of exasperation from his voice. Ever since they knew each other, House always had the habit of stealing food from Wilson; whether it was in the hospital or in Wilson's apartment. Ever since they knew each other, Wilson always had the habit of telling House to stop. And ever since they knew each other, House always had the habit of ignoring Wilson.

"Hey! Cripple here. If you must know, walking from the couch to the cupboard hurts my leg, mommy," House said, matter-of-factly, although it wasn't exactly _true_. The truth was that the cold was what made House's leg hurt—so did walking long distances, running (or in House's case, _hobbling_), and generally exerting more effort on his right leg than what was possible.

"Pssh. Stop playing the cripple card, House. We both know what you're capable of," Wilson replied, unfazed. He glanced at House knowingly before placing his bag of chips beside the arm of the couch, away from House.

"Fine." House pouted. "Why are we watching this crap anyway?" He took Wilson by surprise.

"What's wrong with General Hospital? I thought you liked the damn show. The only reason I'm watching it now is because I thought you liked the show!" House had been watching the show for years, often taking breaks from the clinic or his cases in exam rooms or doctors' lounges just to watch General Hospital.

"Don't get your panties in a bunch. I'm changing the channel and I'm getting your chips." House reached for the bag of chips on the other side of the couch, inadvertently touching Wilson's arm. Wilson blushed a bit. House pretended not to notice. "Whether you like it or not. Gimme the remote."

"What am I now, your slave girl?"

"You'll barely move an inch, you big baby," House glared at Wilson. "Now give me the damn remote."

"Hmph." Wilson conceded and handed the remote to House. House then changed the channel to monster truck rallies. "Oh god, finally. Something we both like." They had been watching far too much General Hospital than what Wilson was comfortable with. Truth be told, he might even say that watching the show would become one of his guilty pleasures, because of this Saturday.

"I don't care what you like-as long as _I_ get a decent show to watch."

"Yeah. 'Cause the universe revolves around you," Wilson muttered.

"What was that?" House said, chomping on chips. He was too engrossed with Megazilla versus The Crusher to notice what Wilson just told him.

"I said your feet smell blandly like glue." Wilson commented. He didn't lie. He simply chose to say something unrelated but nonetheless accurate, lest he be prepared for an argument.

"Scent of a man." House didn't mind. He thought that he smelled worse before.

"Whatever, House. I'm going to get some beer." Wilson stood up from the couch and proceeded to get beer from the fridge. "Want some?"

"Sure." House ate another chip.

Wilson opened the beer bottles and headed back to the couch. Minutes passed. The Crusher was really crushing Megazilla and both House and Wilson were enjoying it.

"Hey, Wilson. What do you think if we stayed like this," House began tentatively, awkwardly, "like, you know...For good?"

Wilson choked on his drink, spilling liquid on his shirt and pants, and coughed. This was not what he expected. At all.

"You okay there, James?" Wilson didn't know if House was genuinely concerned or not. He didn't want to know.

"Yeah," said Wilson, in between coughs. "I'm okay. What do you mean by staying like this for good, exactly?" Wilson couldn't help but be a tad hopeful.

"Well, I could move in to your apartment, piano and all."

Moments passed before Wilson could finally say anything. Then, a beat. "Wow."

"Yeah, wow. So... Whaddya say?"

"Just...wow," Wilson said, dumbfounded. He refused to look at House. "I mean...this is a big step for you, House. A big step." He was surprised that House was taking this so lightly that it was almost unreal.

"Yeah. So?"

"You don't think this is too soon for you?" _For us?_, he wanted to say.

"My best and _only _friend is dying of cancer. That not soon enough? Besides, I don't want to pay for my apartment anymore, and you're going to pay for the both of us once I move in." And House couldn't help but be casual about everything.

"Thanks, House. I'm touched." Wilson smiled his silly little smile.

"What? I just told you that you'd be paying for the apartment. And the food. And the drinks. And the electricity. You get the idea." He couldn't help but deflect. It was his nature.

"I know." Wilson gave House a meaningful look. "Thanks for caring."

"Get that stupid smile of your face." House broke eye contact, becoming uneasy as to where this conversation was going. He wondered if he should have brought it up in the first place. "I'm also going to be your emergency contact since you have cancer and all. You know, in case you faint at Whole Foods or something."

"I know." Wilson said tenderly.

"And I get to be heir of Casa Wilson. I get dibs on your house once you die and all. I'm pretty sure I'll go on a binge of booze and die pretty soon after you go to Jewish heaven. Or hell."

"Hey. Thanks, House. Really." Wilson squeezed House's hand for a moment, not wanting to let go. He didn't care if House got uncomfortable. "And as for you moving into my apartment again, I say why the hell not? We've lived together before. I think I can get used to it again."

"You wanna let go of my hand now?" House was visibly red in the face now and it amused Wilson to no end. Wilson just squeezed House's hand tighter.

"Not really, buddy. Not really."

"Well, I can live with that."


End file.
